


He Dreams Too

by error_in_execution



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Hospitals, Light Angst, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/error_in_execution/pseuds/error_in_execution
Summary: “Saihara-chan.”“Go away,” the detective gasped. “You’re not real.”Ouma tilted his head to the side. What the hell?--Ouma wakes up after the killing game, and things are... strange.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Oma Kokichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 369
Collections: Quality Fics





	He Dreams Too

**Author's Note:**

> i stayed a couple of nights at a hospital and i hated my experience there. i could barely get any sleep even when i was super tired because i felt so uncomfortable being somewhere that wasn't my home, so i wrote a bit about how that felt one day before deciding "hey, this could be interesting ndrv3 fic material". 
> 
> anyway, this is a post killing game hospital fic(?), and i don't know what else there is to add to the tags. the one thing i really wanted to write about was post game maki and kokichi's """friendship""". so i'm glad i did because it was fun.

Ouma hated hospitals. 

He hated everything about them. The stench of bleach and death in the air, the sterile canvas curtains surrounding his bed, how noisy the corridors were. He hated the nurses, who came in and out of his room and without even shooting him a glance and ignored his pleas for water. He hated how bored he was, left staring at the ceiling all day and wondering when he was going to be discharged. 

Often times in his bed, he thought of escaping. He could if he wanted to—he could sneak over to the landline by the receptionist’s desk, dial his goons to come save him. But what was he going to say? _Hey! It’s your boss. Surprise, I’m not dead from the killing game, it was all a simulation haha! So come get me outta here._

Or maybe his goons didn’t even exist. Maybe the people he had to call were his parents. Ouma didn’t know anymore. 

So he stayed in the hospital bed. It’s been his home for a while now, since he woke up from the killing game and learned it was all a big, fat lie. Now he didn’t have anyone to come save him, so he couldn’t leave this place. 

At least that’s what he told himself. It’s not like he was choosing to stay for anyone in particular. 

When Ouma woke up after his death under the hydraulic press, he was already in the hospital. The polystyrene tiled ceiling was the first thing that greeted him and he knew something was very wrong.

The killing game. It was all fake, wasn’t it? 

He didn’t need anyone to come in and tell him. He suspected that was the case. But he was surprised as to why nobody came to offer an explanation. Instead, he turned to the newspaper he found left on the side of the bed. On the first page, the bold headline _KILLING GAME A SIMULATION SUCCESS_ caught his attention. 

He skimmed most of it, but some sentences stood out to him. 

_The final killing game produced before Shirogane Tsumugi’s arrest… Hope’s Peak Academy headmaster, Naegi Makoto, declares the end of killing games… fifteen students found trapped inside program… killing game protagonist Saihara Shuichi and his surviving friends remain in hospital…_

Saihara Shuichi remained in hospital… could that possibly mean he was in the same place as Ouma? 

He put the newspaper down, twisted his body without effort and slid onto his toes, wincing at how heavy his body felt. With every step, his limbs screamed in exhaustion, but he forced himself out of his cubicle and towards the door. None of the other patients bothered to look up at him. 

First thing he’s going to do was find Saihara. 

After hours of searching, collapsing then getting back up, he finally found the detective’s room. 

He’d wandered down corridors, creaking every door open in hopes of finding him. He didn’t care need to care about the people he disturbed and getting reported to the nurses, none of the patients bothered to pay any attention to him. That was convenient for him, so he continued searching. 

It was door number 37 that he found the detective. He peeked through the gap of the door and knew it was him by his dark hair and pale skin. Saihara lay in the bed with his eyes closed, the only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest. He looked all right, safe, and like he was in a peaceful sleep. 

Ouma didn’t want to disturb him, so he only watched the detective from there, feeling things he couldn’t describe. It was when he heard a cough did Ouma turn around. 

“Why’re you watching him?”

He’d recognise that voice anywhere. He wasn’t surprised when she found a girl with red eyes, long black hair in pigtails. She didn't look any different from when he'd last saw her, and was wearing a hospital gown and leaning against the wall, arms folded. 

“What are you doing here, _Miss Assassin_?”

Harukawa Maki raised an eyebrow. “I’m a patient here. Just like you.” 

Oh. Guess Ouma had forgotten the newspaper said that Saihara Shuichi’s friends remained in hospital with him. 

“You shouldn’t be a creep and watch people while they’re sleeping.”

“Shut up.”

“Good to know you’re still the little shit you are. Hey,” she sighed. “Saihara’s actually awake during the night. If you want to see him you should visit him at eight later.” 

The confusion must’ve shone in his eyes because she continued. “Yeah. The nurses drug him during the day so he doesn’t get visitors until night.” 

He was taken aback by how soft her the assassin’s tone was. It was as if all the malice she had for him in the killing game was forgotten, replaced by… pity? “Okay. Uh. Thanks for telling me.” 

“No problem.”

He was ready to turn to leave, but Harukawa grabbed him by the shoulder. Memories of the killing game came flooding his mind. When the assassin strangled him, when the assassin shot him in the arm, when she hated his guts. He swallowed, ready for her to kill him again. 

“I won’t hurt you,” she said, when she noticed his stiffness. “No hard feelings, right?”

_No hard feelings…?_

She was talking about their rivalry in the killing game. He forced himself to shrug, “No hard feelings.”

The assassin let him go. “See you later, then.” 

He watched as she left the scene swiftly, her back growing smaller and smaller down the hallway until it disappeared around the corner. Weird. Harukawa Maki didn’t want to kill him anymore. 

He returned to his own cubicle after a while of getting lost. When he snuck back into his bed, he found a note on his pillow. 

_Ouma,_

_I know we didn’t get along well in the killing game, but I’d like to put that behind me._

_Saihara has told me a lot of things about you and what you’ve done for him. I can’t continue to hate anyone who makes him happy._

_I want you to see him as often as you can._

_Your time here is limited._

_— Harukawa._

How the assassin managed to find his cubicle before he did was beyond him. It was a fairly nice letter, but his time here was limited? She probably meant that he was getting discharged soon, so it’ll be harder to see the detective. 

He still had some time left before the clock struck eight. At least he could sleep knowing he’ll see the detective, and the assassin wasn’t going to kill him anytime soon. He let his head fall onto the pillow, closing his eyes. He hoped he would dream of Saihara then. 

“Ouma, wake up.”

Someone was shaking him. He rolled over to his side. “Not… now.”

“Wake up.”

“Hmmmm…” 

“Idiot. You slept for two days in a row.”

Two… two days? The words had him bolt upright in bed, tangled in the mass of white sheets. How did he—

“Finally awake?”

Rubbing his eyes, he saw that Harukawa sat on the edge of the bed, eyes gleaming a dangerous red. “I thought you were gonna see him that night, but you didn’t come.” 

She sounded angry. Not the type of of angry where it seemed like she would kill him, but the type of angry where she was disappointed. For some reason, Ouma didn’t like that. He didn’t like how it reminded him of a child disappointing an adult who had high expectations of him. 

“Saihara’s really sick, you know.” 

“Yeah, I can guess.” he said bitterly. Harukawa fiddled with her ponytail. 

“He’s going through a lot. He has trouble coping with the fact the others are alive, and I think he still doesn’t believe it.” she said. “Since you’re here, I want you to meet him as soon as possible. It’ll be good to help with his sanity.” 

“ _Sanity_ … what the hell are you talking about?” 

“He thinks the others are dead when they’re not. In reality, they’re alive but none of them want to see one another.” 

“Huh…” 

He didn’t need to ask why, he knew the answer. Some of them were afraid he’d be angry at them for participating in murder, some of them were afraid they’d hurt him with their deaths. Both killers and victims were alike in the killing game, in that felt guilty for the things they’ve done and failed to do. None of them would feel comfortable seeing each other. 

“Why don’t we see him now?” 

“Can’t, dipshit. It’s three in the afternoon. I told you he’s available at night.” 

Fuck. He was just starting to recover from his sleep. He had no idea how he managed to sleep that long, it felt like he’d disappeared for some time. But that didn’t matter now. All he wanted to do was see the detective. Harukawa shifted to her feet. 

“Why don’t you come walk with me?” 

So they went on a walk. It wasn’t something Ouma imagined he’d ever do with the person he’d hated so long, but fate had its plans. 

All this time he’d been so focused on Saihara he didn’t think of exploring what was beyond the hospital when he wasn’t regulated. Being trapped in the killing game for so long he didn’t realise how vast the outside was, and how much air could fill his lungs each time he breathed. As they walked down a pebble trail, the trees are veiled in the lightest of mists, their trunks sombre brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark and everything before them blurred like an old painting. He didn’t know where they were walking to. 

“Saihara made me… not want to kill you.” Harukawa said suddenly, after an hour of silent walking. “You should thank him for that.”

“Maybe it’s so that he can kill me himself.”

“Don’t say that about him. He does like you, believe it or not.”

Like had a lot of meanings, but he assumed it was more of a _would feel kinda sad of you died_ sort of like. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to be more clear about that.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” she growled, “is that he cares about you. He wants to see you the most.”

“Hard to believe when Akamatsu-chan and Mo—“

“Akamatsu and Momota were the only ones who visited him. But you’re the last person who can help him. ” 

He kept note of it in his head. Both the pianist and astronaut were alive. But where were they now? “And he’s really told you what he thinks of me?” 

“He thinks you’re someone who only lies to others,” she said. “He thinks you’re immature, reckless and immoral…”

“Ha! And that’s worth not killing me?”

“Maybe I exaggerated a bit. He did mention you had motive to make people hate you. That you were building a facade for some reason, and it was because of that he wanted to understand you so much… to be honest, it was hard for me to sympathise with you when he told me, but it was the way he said it…”

“What way?”

“He sounded like he meant it.” she answered. “You know he has that hard look in his eyes when he says he’ll do something? Like a declaration? It’s that.”

Ouma knew exactly what she meant. He saw the exact same thing when Saihara wrapped those bandages around his cut hand. Which, strange enough, the scar on his hand had disappeared since he’d woken up in the hospital bed. 

“So you have to go see him, okay?”

“…sure.” 

Some things were a little off. 

"Saihara talks about you a lot it pisses me off. _Ouma sacrificed himself, Ouma was acting all along, Ouma felt excruciating pain..._ it was always about you."

Ouma wasn't sure why she was telling him all this. It was exposing somebody's secret after all, and even though Ouma liked these sorts of mischievous activities, he felt slightly bothered if it was about Saihara who was always private about things. "Uh-huh."

"I swear, you're probably his third favourite person in the whole world." she rolled her eyes. "Honestly..."

He didn't know if that was an insult or a compliment, but he shrugged it off. During the killing game, Harukawa and Saihara had been close friends because of the astronaut. He'd never looked into their friendship because there wasn't any point anyway, but now he knew even if Harukawa didn't completely understand Saihara that well, her affection towards him could be described as "cold love". 

He never realised how interesting conversations were with her. 

After the walk with Harukawa, he returned to his room and Harukawa returned to hers. She had said to go up to Saihara’s room at eight, and he was planning to do exactly that. Except he had fallen asleep. Once again. 

But this time, instead of sleeping for two days straight, it lasted four. Someone was shaking him.

“Ouma!” He jolted awake, groggy. Harukawa was sitting on his bed again. “You didn’t go see him. Again. It’s been four days, idiot.”

Four days… the first time Ouma was angry at himself for sleeping for so long, but this time he couldn’t help but feel angry at the assassin. She was putting so much pressure on him to see the detective for some reason, and getting mad at him when he didn’t. “Why didn’t you just wake me up one of those days?”

“Because you weren’t there!”

“What? I’m just sleeping here, it’s not like I sleep walk.” 

“Well, you _disappear_ from this bed whenever I come find you.” she snarled. “I’ve been trying to talk to you, but whenever I come into this room it’s just your sick buddies here snoring. You’re not here at all.” 

He was confused. Really confused. Harukawa said, “You can’t fall asleep tonight. It’s seven in the morning right now, and you need to go see him later before you sleep.”

Why was she so desperate to get him to see the detective? It’s not like he didn’t want to, Ouma did really want to greet Saihara after everything they’ve been through. But the amount of stress she was giving him to do so, it was making him… uncomfortable. “Fine. Fine. No need to be a mom about it.” 

Harukawa didn’t look impressed, but she turned away. 

Ouma didn’t know what the hell was going on. 

In fact, since he woke up in this hospital, he had no clue about anything at all. Only that once he’d woken, he wanted to see Saihara. Weird. Everything was weird weird weird. Where were the others? Why were Harukawa and Saihara the only heres in this place? How did he manage to keep falling asleep for days without waking up? 

Both the assassin and this hospital were starting to give him the fucking creeps. 

The night he finally did decide to see Saihara was when he received a message slipped under his curtains from the assassin.

_Ouma,_

_I don’t like to repeat things. But your time here is limited._

_You have to see him before it’s too late._

_—Harukawa._

That was enough to push him out of bed and down the corridors and up the stairs before he arrived before the detective’s door. At eight o’clock exactly. 

That’s it. This was the time to open the door. He was gonna say hello to Saihara, confess his feelings, then maybe return home to his goons? Or his parents? Or whoever takes care of him. Right now he just wanted to talk things through with him, to come to terms with things, that’s the only way he felt he could move on from things. He pushed the door, and it creaked open loudly. 

And there he was. Saihara was sitting upright on his bed, hair a mess and dark bags under his amber eyes. He looked tired as hell as he stared out at the window beside his bed. When the detective looked up, his eyes widened in alarm. 

Ouma stood there awkwardly by the doorway. The detective looked… more scared than surprised. He wondered why. 

“Saihara-chan?”

Saihara pulled his blanket to his nose, shaking. “O-Ouma-kun?”

He frowned, and repeated, “Saihara-chan.” 

“Go away,” the detective gasped. “You’re not real.”

Ouma tilted his head to the side. What the hell? Why was he—

“This is a nightmare. You’re just here to haunt me. How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry?”

“This isn’t a nightmare,” Ouma approached him carefully, “This is real. I know this is all a shock for you—“

“You and the others are still in those simulation pods. You aren’t real. You’re just a dream.” 

“What?”

Simulation pods? The others? Those words were foreign to him, and he wanted to ask him what he was talking about but it was then, he caught his own reflection in the mirror next to Saihara’s window, that Ouma kokichi saw himself for the first time since he was crushed by the hydraulic press. 

He looked exactly like himself. Except… 

He was transparent. Completely see-through. 

Suddenly, he felt something weigh down on him. Something large, like a wave. He felt tired—

tired

falling 

into 

a deep sleep.

And now he knew whenever he slept he wasn’t really asleep, it was that he’d disappeared. 

His mind and body were disappearing. Right when he’d just met the detective. He looked at Saihara, who was probably seeing Ouma fade away. “Saihara-chan… save me…” 

“I… I’m sorry, Ouma-kun.” 

“Please…”

“I’m so sorry.”

His vision was blurring and even the world was beginning to disappear around him. He coudn’t tell if the detective was crying, but he heard some sniffling. Ouma remembered something important, the real reason why he wanted to see the detective for so long. “Heh, Saihara-chan… I didn’t even… get to tell you…” 

“It’s okay… I know.”

"I... miss... ou."

"It's the same for me." he said. "I'll always feel that way too."

Those were the last words he heard before darkness dragged him back to oblivion. 

“You awake?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re back in your bed, you know. You were gone for a week.”

“Yeah.” he didn’t care. Didn’t even want to look Harukawa in the eyes. “Why did you tell me to go see him?” 

“Because you’re the only one who appeared. Akamatsu didn’t appear, Momota didn’t appear. Only you did.” 

“Didn’t you tell me they both visited Saihara-chan already?”

“I lied.”

Stupid. He should’ve spotted the lie, being a liar himself. 

“Do you see now?” Harukawa sighed. “You’re not a patient here. You’re not even alive.” 

“Yeah. I’m a ghost, Harukawa-chan. I get it.”

“Not exactly, Ouma, I mean you are a ghost but…” she hesitated. “I’m talking to your _mind_. Your body is still in that pod, but your mind has wandered into this hospital in the form of a ghost. So you aren’t exactly dead.”

“How’d you know?”

“I did a lot of reading.” she said. “And plus, I hoped that if Saihara saw you, and he knew how you felt, he’d feel better. It looks like he does… sort of.” 

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad to know. 

“We’re all waiting for you guys to wake up. It’ll be much better confessing your feelings to Saihara in your actual self, right?”

He didn’t answer, because he was tired again. He wanted to sleep, and this time he knew when he went back to oblivion he would not wake up again— not until his body woke up from his pod. Perhaps even Harukawa noticed his body fading, because she sounded a little less menacing. “We’ll be there when you guys wake up, okay?”

Everything was going black again, her voice was fading and the lights were dimming. “Sure,” he said. “But don’t shake any of us awake next time.”

Ouma realised he heard Harukawa laugh for the first time, and for the last time, before he vanished. 


End file.
